Chapter 1
A WEDDING AND A CORONATION . . . witnesses . . . a lost crown . . . headstones
Winter weddings were unheard of in the kingdom of the Mirien. It was known as a land of warmth, sunlight, and rich harvests, where tradition dictated that Mir couples held their wedding on one of the long summer days that stretched lazily from sunrise to sunset. The expectations were no different for royalty: Bryn’s parents had married on a mid-summer day with blue skies overhead; the previous king and queen had wed on the warmest day of that year, and so on the custom went.
And yet the wedding of Mars Lindane and Illiana Joster broke tradition in three ways: first, it was held in winter, when frost crept over the fallow fields. Second, it was brief at barely half an hour, instead of a multi-day affair. And third, it was private.
No grand crowds, no visiting dignitaries.
Only the couple and a few witnesses.
Bryn huddled in a velvet shawl against the chill trawling through Castle Mir’s council room. The gathered wedding party was painfully small: Mars and Illiana; ancient Lord Randall, the castle’s chief scholar, to serve as official; Illiana’s mother, Mam Nelle, and brother, Christof; and Bryn and Rangar.
“Here. Take my cloak.” Seeing Bryn shiver, Rangar slid out of his bearskin cloak and draped it over her shoulders.
Lord Randall used his arthritic fingers to flip to the royal marriage oath passage in an ancient book. “You may face one another,” he said to Mars and Illiana.
Illiana clasped Mars’s hands, guiding him to face her. The wedding was rushed, and the bride’s dress was an old lace gown that a servant had found in storage, yet Illiana beamed with as much joy as if she was draped in gold.
Mars’s expression was harder to read, in no small part because of his cloudy, unfocused eyes. The infection that had taken hold of him after his near-death experience had robbed him of his sight, yet he’d quickly learned to adapt. Still, even with his unfocused gaze, his softened jaw and firm posture made it clear he was just as joyful as his bride.
“Mars Lindane of the Mirien, firstborn prince of King Deothaniel and Queen Helena, do you bind yourself with this woman?”
Mars gave a solemn nod. “Forever, I do.”
As they stood witness, Rangar slid his arm around Bryn’s back, hooking his hand around her hip to draw her close. She hadn’t realized until that moment how tense she’d been holding herself. She couldn’t help but think about her own doomed wedding to Trei Barendur, Rangar’s eldest brother. The tradition was different in the Baersladen. The common folk had shouted a loud three-call chant after every vow that had made her heart rattle.
Here, the few gathered witnesses remained quiet as stone.
“And Illiana Joster of the Mirien, daughter of Nelle Joster, do you bind yourself with this man?”
Illiana’s soft gaze fell adoringly on Mars. “Forever, I do.”
Rangar’s hand tightened on Bryn’s waist. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, “You’re next, princess.” He quietly pressed something into her palm.
Bryn felt a jolt of anticipation as she looked down and saw his engagement ring. It was the second time he’d given it to her. She’d had to throw it back in his face the first time to convince Captain Carr that she cared nothing for Rangar, and ever since then, she’d felt the ring’s loss keenly.
She looked down at her palm, hiding her smile, but before she could close her hand around the ring, Rangar suddenly took it back. Her lips parted, confused.
“Not yet,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “I want to put it on your finger myself—and this time I want it tostaythere.” His lips grazed her ear, giving her wicked shivers.
Old Lord Randall cleared his throat, bringing Bryn back to the present. The officiant’s shaky fingers flipped to the next page as he pronounced, “The Second Amendment in the Third Law of Succession declares that a member of Mir royalty may marry a commoner so long as they are not the crown heir. Mars Lindane, do you swear by honor and reason that you hold no claim to the Mir throne?”
All eyes—except for Mars’s clouded ones—turned to Bryn.
The seemingly insignificant Second Amendment of the Third Law of Succession was the reason for this rushed marriage instead of a proper grand summer ceremony in front of the entire populace. Mars could only marry Illiana if he weren’t the crown heir—a title that Bryn currently held. But she needed to surrender that title back to him soon, so that she and Rangar could return to the Baersladen. Every day, King Aleth’s health grew poorer. They didn’t dare wait until summertime to return, while the kingdom’s enemies might see Aleth’s condition as a weakness.
“I swear by honor and reason,” Mars stated. “I recognize my sister, Lady Bryn Lindane, as crown heir to the Mirien.”
Lord Randall adjusted his spectacles. “Then it is my honor to declare this marriage as valid. Mars Lindane and Illiana Joster, you are now one.”
Both of them broke into grins, then Mars pulled Illiana into a kiss. Mam Nelle clapped, and Christof Joster gave a whistle of congratulations. Once the couple finally broke the kiss, Bryn approached them.
“Mars. Illiana. I’m so happy for you.” She squeezed her brother’s arm. “This is a blessing for the kingdom, and I’m so pleased to see my brother with a smile on his face.”
“Thank you, Lady Bryn,” Illiana said. “For all you’ve done.”
“Don’t think of it,” Bryn said, waving away the witch’s thanks. “Though we are anxious to return to the Baersladen. If we could handle the remainder of the paperwork . . . ”
